


loving him is red

by allhalethekings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basketball Player Derek, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, New Kid!Stiles, Oral Sex, jock!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allhalethekings/pseuds/allhalethekings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who’s that?” Stiles asks, eyes not leaving the table.</p><p>“Who?” Scott asks, following Stiles’s line of sight. “Him? That’s Derek Hale. And you better forget about him. He doesn’t date."</p>
            </blockquote>





	loving him is red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lusciousslahey](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lusciousslahey).



> This is a gift for [lusciousslahey](http://lusciousslahey.tumblr.com), who wanted a high school AU with jock!Derek and nerd!Stiles, smut, and some angst. Hope you like it!! Happy holidays, lovely! :)
> 
> This fic is also inspired by [this gifset AU](http://hoechlined.tumblr.com/post/96913892520/who-is-he-him-thats-derek-hale-and-you) by the amazing [Jessy](http://hoechlined.tumblr.com).
> 
> Yeah, so I'll start by saying I totally know basketball season doesn't start until November but that didn't work for me sooooo I changed it. Hurray! Also, I have no knowledge of any team positions or anything so if you find mistakes, let me know and I'll correct them. 
> 
> Also, this is only my second time writing and posting smut so...be gentle?
> 
> Title is from Taylor Swift's Red.
> 
> Before I forget (as I almost did), a HUGE thank you to the wonderful [Mandi](http://dude-its-bcn-hlls.tumblr.com), who helped brainstorm stuff for this fic when I was blanking on every single plot point needed and failing hardcore, like I always do.

Beacon Hills is a quiet town in the northern part of California. A small town has its pros and cons. It’s cozy, there’re friendly faces everywhere, and it’s a peaceful environment. It also means that everyone knew everyone’s business – there wasn’t much you could hide in a town this size. It also means that when a new family moves into town, they instantly become the talk of the town.

Especially when the new family happens to be family of the new Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

It takes Stiles and his dad, the newly appointed Sheriff, an entire two days to unpack everything in the house. They’d made the move from Redding on a particularly hot September Saturday so they’d have ample time to set up the house before the Sheriff officially started at the station the following Monday.

By Sunday night, they’re both exhausted. They’d just finished carrying up the last of Stiles’s boxes into his room but they are in no shape or form to unpack anything anymore.

“I hate moving,” Stiles moans, falling onto the couch. “We are officially staying here forever and ever. No more moving. Ever. Seriously. I don’t care if they want you to become the director of the FBI. We’re staying here forever.”

His dad snorts, “Kid, you’re off to college in a year. The nearest college is at least three hours away.”

“Nope, not going. Hate to break it to you like this dad, but this is a total deal-breaker.”

“You know, I’d never have realized the down side of marrying a drama teacher before you started talking,” his dad replies dryly.

Stiles feigns being surprised. “Why, father dearest! I had no idea you moonlit as a comedian on your nights off!” He laughs and ducks, narrowly missing the flying couch cushion from hitting him directly in the face. His dad shakes his head in amusement, fond expression on his face. 

“You all ready for school tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs.

“I know you really wanted to spend your big senior year with kids you actually know but well, this job was a long-time coming, you know?”

“Dad, we already had this talk,” he reminds him. “I’m really happy for you and it’s only one year, right? Not a big deal.”

Besides, Stiles wants to add, it’s not like he was overflowing with friends at his old school. Sure, he’d had a few friends but none that he’d miss to the point of throwing a tantrum over the move. After all, it  _is_  just a year till college and if moving to Beacon Hills is what's right for his dad's career then who's he to deny him that?

-

Stiles is restless when he wakes up on Monday morning. He'd been exhausted from all the moving and unpacking so he'd passed out as soon as his body had hit the bed but for some reason, he doesn't feel as well-rested as he should. 

He’s got to get set up for school, he knows, but he’s never had a real first day at school before. Back in Redding, his only first day was during kindergarten and that’d only gone well because his mother had promised to sit outside in the car all day if he wanted her to. Stiles had hugged her and said no because that’s not what Bruce Wayne’s mother did.

But he’s overcome with nerves today and he thinks that if his mother was still alive, he’d maybe ask her to wait outside at least until first period was over.

He’s still got his Jeep, refusing to part with it, so making the ten-minute drive to school isn’t that bad. It’s a pretty nice day, actually. The air is crisp but not so cold that he needs to layer up. His red hoodie with a plain white shirt underneath would do nicely. He considers putting on something nicer for a second but hell, he’s got nobody to impress.

The drive over is pretty decent, giving Stiles the chance to drive by part of the downtown area and taking in the somewhat random array of shops and clothing boutiques with a couple of coffee shops littered in between.

There are students everywhere, he realizes. Kids with backpacks or messenger bags strapped to their bodies walking to the school, laughing, pushing each other playfully. Kids rolling on their skateboards, doing flips and neat little tricks on their boards. It’s like a picturesque scene from a movie, Stiles thinks, and he smiles to himself. Maybe this won’t be the worst thing in the world. Maybe this is the new start that he’s always wanted.

Stiles regrets those words the second he walks through the main doors and instantly gets lost on his way to the main office. He walks down one hallway, turns, goes up the staircase, and then down another hallway. He’s not an idiot and though he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t miss the stares and the odd whispers that follow him.

Guess this town doesn’t get new people often, he muses. Stiles circles back to another hallway and yep, he’s definitely been through here before. It’s only a few minutes before homeroom starts and he's starting to feel desperate. First day and he's already going to be that new kid who showed up late, who couldn't even find the freaking office in the school. 

It doesn’t occur to him that he should probably look where he’s walking since his eyes are plastered to the endless number of rooms he’s passing, desperately wishing he’d just come across the main office already. But yeah, he should _definitely_ see where he’s going because if he was, he wouldn’t have bumped into a solid brick wall and fallen on his ass. A few tattered snickers ring through his ears and his ears flame up when he looks up.

Because it’s not a solid brick wall he just walked into, it’s a _person_. Better yet, it’s an extremely good-looking guy with ink-black hair, thick eyebrows, and seriously, what color are those eyes even? Stiles wants to say hazel but a more accurate description would be a mix of green, hazel, yellow, and, just every other color out there. Stiles stares at the guy and fuck, it’s like somebody out there took every single fantasy Stiles has ever had and handcrafted a specimen just for him.

 _Well, Merry early Christmas to me_ , he thinks, cheeks flushed as a slow smile curls on Fantasy Specimen’s beautiful face, making it even more beautiful and yeah, Stiles can feel his heart already melting into a puddle of disgusting love goop.

He’s so deep into thinking of the names of their future children that he nearly misses whatever it is that’s coming out of Fantasy Specimen’s mouth.

“…need help?”

Stiles blinks. “What?” There’s an outstretched hand in front of him so he latches on and is awed when the guy pulls him up in one fluid motion, without any real effort. The guy smiles again and it's like clouds of rain and despair have parted to let the sun shine through.

“I asked, do you need any help?” God, his voice is like _honey_. How is this even possible? _Why_ is this even possible?

“Um – yeah, sorry, I’m new and I got lost and wasn’t watching where I was going, obviously, since I bumped into you and everything – really sorry about that – can’t imagine this is how I wanted my first day going but what can you do right?” Stiles fumbles, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him whole any time now.

“Clearly,” the guy smirks.

“Um, where’s the main office?”

Fantasy Specimen points to the left. “Go down this hallway and take the second right. It’s the first door on your left.”

“Hallway, second right, first door on the left,” Stiles bobs his head up and down. He flings up a hand to his forehead and _salutes_ the guy. “Copy that.” 

As he practically runs the entire way to the office, his entire face burns up.

Did he seriously just salute the hottest, most beautiful guy he’s ever seen? Stiles groans internally. He needs _help_.

-

He’s still ashamed of his epic failure when he slinks over to homeroom, glad that it’s only a few doors away. He’s late; class has already begun but the secretary, Mrs. Schmidt, is kind enough to reassure him that it’s okay because it’s his first day. He doesn’t know what to expect when he walks in but he’s never been good with attention and right now, the attention of twenty-something kids plus the teacher is on him.

“And you are?” The teacher, a wiry man with thin glasses, pasty skin, and black hair, asks him, clearly unimpressed with being interrupted.

“Stiles. I’m Stiles,” he says. “I’m new.”

If possible, the teacher, Mr. Harris, Stiles remembers reading from his timetable, looks even more unimpressed and lets out a scoff. “There’s no _Stiles_ on my list. What even is a Stiles?”

Stiles clenches his teeth, instantly taking a dislike to him. “I’m new. Stilinski,” he bites out. Harris glances at the roll call sheet, eyes tracking down towards the bottom, before giving out a brief nod.

“Mr. Stilinski. Though Stiles is not what I have listed here,” Harris says.

“If you can pronounce my name on the sheet, you’re free to call me that. Personally, I think Stiles might be easier though,” Stiles gives him a sweet smile that has Harris narrowing his eyes at him.

“Take a seat, Mr. Stilinski,” Harris nods towards the back of the room beside a floppy-haired guy who’s beaming at him. “And please check your attitude when you walk into my classroom. I’d hate to give you detention on your first day.”

Stiles rolls his eyes on his way to the empty chair and smiles back at the guy before turning his attention back to Harris.

“So Harris is a dick,” Stiles mutters as he walks out of the class. Scott, the floppy-haired guy he’d sat beside, grins at him.

Stiles likes him, he's a relaxed guy with a total laid-back attitude and a face of a really cute puppy. Between the classes they shared, they’d quickly realized the amount of things they had in common. They shared the same sense of humor and had similar feelings about the casting choices of Marvel's latest movie venture. Conversation between them flowed naturally and if Stiles was ever nervous about starting at a new school without knowing anyone, he never felt it. And like him, Scott was mostly brought up by a single parent too so they’d bonded over that as well.

“Yeah, old news, dude,” Scott says casually, eyes going back and forth between his and Stiles's schedule to compare and contrast. They’re in most of the same classes thus far, according to Scott who’d demanded to see his timetable the second they got out of homeroom and thankfully also shared the same lunch block. After lunch though is when they get separated since Stiles had opted to take some AP classes but Scott was quick to reassure him that his girlfriend, Allison, and her best friend, Lydia, were in some, if not all, of those classes. Apparently he shared APUSH and AP English with Allison and Lydia and AP Calculus with just Lydia.

Allison Argent, if everything Scott's saying is true, is the most perfect, graceful, wonderful, and kind person to walk the hallways of BHHS. She's a goddess amongst mere mortals of Beacon Hills. Scott met her last year and they'd quickly become the cutest, most Disney-like, couple to date, he says with a dopey, lovelorn expression on his face. Lydia Martin, on the other hand, is a beautiful storm in heels who's dating Scott's lacrosse co-captain, Jackson Whittemore. She has a low tolerance for stupidity and even lower tolerance for losers who waste her time. 

"Don't be surprised if she hates you on sight," Scott says quickly and Stiles nods, confused on if he should be taking notes, but Scott quickly switches gears and starts talking about Allison again so Stiles quickly zones out and looks around the hallways as they walk to the cafeteria. There are various ‘Welcome Back’ posters everywhere surrounded by more posters about upcoming sports team tryouts, track meets, and advertisements for different clubs and organizations.

“So here we are,” Scott says, nudging him at the shoulder. Stiles snaps his attention back to the present and the first thing he notices is how big the cafeteria is; the café in Redding High, his old school, was barely half the size of the one here. It’s already filled up with people laughing and talking and eating; it kind of looks like a scene from a cliche high school movie and Stiles isn't afraid to admit that he’s a tad bit intimidated at how overwhelming all this is, even with Scott around to guide him.

They quickly join the line to get some food and once he’s armed with a tray full of adequate stuff to eat, Scott leads him to a table across the cafeteria, surrounded by a loud, boisterous group. Most of the group hardly pauses in their conversation for Scott but it’s the petite redhead that notices Stiles right away and narrows her eyes at him.

“Who’re you?” She asks, direct and to the point and at once, the free-flowing conversation halts as everyone looks at him as if just noticing his presence beside Scott. It throws Stiles off for a second before he realizes that the question was obviously directed at him.

“Stiles,” he introduces himself. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“He’s new,” Scott adds, plopping down beside a dark-haired girl who smiles at Stiles. “This is Allison.” He says it with such reverence that it makes him smile. 

“Hey,” she dimples at him and he immediately takes a liking to her, if only because she reminds him of a Disney princess. “Oh my gosh, sit down!” Stiles smiles at her before taking a seat at the empty spot on the other side of Scott. “This is Lydia,” she motions to the redhead. “That’s Jackson and beside him is Danny.”

“Your parents actually named you Stiles Stilinski?” Jackson arches a brow at him judgmentally. The tone has an air of arrogance about it and he’s staring at Stiles like Stiles isn’t even worthy of being talked to. It’s a tone that immediately rubs Stiles the wrong way.

“It’s a nickname, dick,” Stiles snaps before he can help himself and his eyes automatically go to Scott, worried that he’s already ruined everything but Scott just snorts into his juice. Danny and Allison let out a small smile and even Lydia eases a bit. Jackson scowls at him but Danny dimples at him too.

“Stop growling, Jackson. You _are_ a dick,” he says casually and just like that, Jackson’s attention goes from Stiles and back to Lydia with a simple huff.

“So has anyone done the reading for English yet?” Allison asks.

“I already completed the required reading list in the first month of summer,” Lydia sniffs, making Allison giggle. The conversation resumes as it did before Stiles’s interruption with Lydia and Allison talking about _The Lord of the Flies_ while the guys talked about the upcoming lacrosse games.

Stiles opts to remain quiet, happy to just take in everything around him. His eyes roam around the cafeteria – it’s hard not to – and immediately stops on a familiar guy sitting a few tables away with a blonde girl and two other guys.

 _Well hello there, Fantasy Specimen. We meet again_ , Stiles thinks. He’s not looking at them, attention focused solely on whatever the blonde is saying with a slight smile on his face. The other two – a fairly bulky black guy and a curly-haired guy – are laughing, seemingly teasing her.

“Who’s that?” Stiles asks, eyes not leaving the table.

“Who?” Scott asks, following Stiles’s line of sight. “Him? That’s Derek Hale. And you better forget about him. He doesn’t date. Besides, he’s on the basketball team.” The way Scott says it makes Stiles quirk an eyebrow in response. “We hate them.”

“He’s out of your league anyways, Stilinski,” Jackson huffs.

“You sure you wanna talk about who’s outta whose league?” Stiles retorts, motioning to Lydia and this sets Scott off again. He rolls his eyes, good with ignoring the withering glare Jackson’s shooting him and turns back to Derek.

 _Derek Hale_ , Stiles sounds out the name on his tongue. It’s got a nice ring to it.

-

The rest of the lunch block passes without any issue. Stiles takes any chance he can get to stare off in Derek’s direction but never once does he catch Derek looking back at him. Once or twice Scott catches him looking and he sends a subtle nudge either on the shoulder or on his thigh. When Stiles looks at Scott, he simply gives him a knowing smile.

After lunch, he follows Allison and Lydia to AP English with a Ms. Blake, who’s as passionate about the subject as his mom used to be about art. It gets him weirdly excited about the subject.  She’s pretty considerate about Stiles being new so she gives him a free pass for the next few days with the understanding that Stiles gets all the books on the required reading list and is ready for class discussions by the start of next week.

It’s when Stiles turns to find an empty seat in his AP Calculus class that he notices _him_. Lydia doesn’t exactly make any real effort in sitting together (it’s okay though because Scott’d already warned Stiles that Lydia tended to ignore the general existence of everyone around her except Allison and Jackson and Danny) so he doesn’t exactly expect anything from her.

The only empty seat is at the back of the classroom, beside – _of course_ – Derek Hale. Clearly the universe doesn’t hate him enough already, right?

Derek doesn’t look up until Stiles is already settled into his seat. It’s then that he glances up quickly but freezes, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, seeminly trying to place where he recognizes Stiles.

“Uh, hey,” Stiles mumbles, the embarrassment over _saluting_ still fresh in his mind. As if he can read Stiles’s mind, Derek nods, like it finally clicks.

“You’re the guy that saluted at me,” he smirks, making Stiles feel like crawling under a rock to hide. “Where are you from?”

“Redding,” Stiles replies and Derek nods.

“They’ve got a decent basketball team,” he mentions casually.

Stiles doesn’t really know because he’s never been much into sports, much less basketball, but he nods along like he knows exactly what Derek means.

“Uh, yeah, I guess you can say that. Oh, uh, sorry about practically running you down today, by the way. I was looking for the office and I guess I just didn’t see you coming.”

“Pretty sure you were the one who actually got run down,” Derek says easily, lips curling into a small smirk.

Which, okay, fair enough. Before he can think to reply (read: humiliate himself even farther), the blonde on the other side of Derek leans forward, a predatory smile taking over her face. He vaguely recognizes her as the same girl sitting with Derek during lunch.

“Looks like we got fresh meat,” she smirks, eyes raking him up and down.

“Erica,” Derek shifts next to her.

They share a quiet conversation with their eyebrows and quick twitch of lips before Erica turns back to Stiles.

“I’m Erica Reyes. Couldn’t help but notice that Scott McCall’s already adopted you into his little circle,” she muses, twirling a pencil between her fingers.

“How do you know that exactly?” Stiles raises an eyebrow at her, because it’s weird the way she said that. From the corner of his eye, he sees Lydia perk up and has no doubt in his mind that she’s been listening in the whole time.

“You’d have noticed other people looking at you if you weren’t too intent on staring at Derek over here,” she says gleefully, motioning to Derek, who colors slightly.

It’s nothing compared to the alarming shade of red Stiles’s face is no doubt turning right now and he’s all set to _deny, deny, deny_ but she’s already waving a hand in his face in dismissal.

“Oh it’s okay, he’s pretty to look at, I know. Why do you think I keep him around?”

“ _Erica_ ,” Derek hisses but she hardly spares him a glance.

“Right,” Stiles coughs, shifting uncomfortably. “Did you have a point?”

“I’m just sad we didn’t get a chance to meet before, that’s all.”

“Why? Were you planning on putting an offer for my addition to _your_ group of friends?” He smiles back at her and she leans in.

“Maybe I was thinking about it,” she whispers. There’s a playful glint in her eyes and her tone is suggestive. Stiles immediately takes a liking to her.

“Good thing I’m capable of being friends with more than just five people, huh?”

She settles back in her chair, satisfied with the answer, and when he looks at Derek, he’s pointedly ignoring Stiles now in lieu of staring at the open textbook on his desk.

Okay, then. That went well.

-

“What’s the deal with Erica?” Stiles asks, long when the day is over and he and Scott are playing Halo 3 back at Scott’s house after school. It was a tiring day but he's glad that he's got friends at least. Well, tentative friends. Hell, he's surprised even. 

Scott side-eyes him, “Reyes?” At Stiles’s nod, he shrugs, “What’d you mean?”

“She just made a comment about you adopting me already in your circle?”

Scott pointedly rolls his eyes, “She runs with the basketball team.”

“Okay?”

“The basketball team and the lacrosse team don’t exactly get along. Jackson, Danny, and I are on the lacrosse team. Erica’s boyfriend, Boyd, Derek Hale, and their other friend Isaac, are all on the basketball team. Dude, just ignore her.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, “The basketball team and lacrosse teams are rivals? You do get that you’re both teams of the same school, right?”

Scott rolls his eyes, like he’s talking to a first-grader. “Stiles, it doesn’t matter. We’ve always had a rivalry with them for like years now.” Suddenly though, Scott pauses the game and narrows his eyes at Stiles. “What’s it matter to you anyways?”

“What? I was just wondering, dude!”

“Are you sure? ‘Cuz you were staring at Derek pretty much the whole lunch block too.”

This time, Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dude, I think he’s good-looking but I mean, he’s way out of my league. There’s no way a guy like him would ever be interested in me anyways.”

He says it casually, like it’s a known fact, so he completely unprepared for Scott’s reaction.

“Don’t ever say that. He’d be lucky to be with a guy like you,” he argues furiously, making Stiles widen his eyes at the degree of Scott’s defensiveness over him. He’s never had this before. Of course, his dad’s always talked like this but hell, it’s his dad, right? He’s morally obligated to think Stiles is the best thing to happen since sliced bread. But he’s never had this from a friend, much less from someone he hasn’t even known fully for a day.

“You’ve known me for less than a day,” Stiles points out weakly.

“Some things are just obvious,” Scott sniffs primly. “But I’m serious, Stiles. We just don’t mix and don’t think I’m telling you who you can or can’t date but falling for Derek is like asking for heartbreak to happen. He’s not interested in anyone, much less someone associated with the lacrosse team.”

Stiles nods and unpauses the game.

But if he falls asleep thinking about technicolor eyes, well, that’s for him to know.

- 

“Little birdie told me you have a thing for the basketball star,” a voice breaks into his thoughts when Stiles is sitting at a corner table in the library a few weeks later, cursing the day he thought it’d be a good idea to take three AP classes. He's got a quiz on the symbolism in Macbeth in twenty-minutes so he'd taken off after his last class before lunch and isolated himself in the library for a quick one-hour cram session. Stiles blinks up, bleary-eyed, at the mass of blonde curls and it takes a while for Stiles to register the shape as Erica.

“Scott would never blab,” he replies automatically once he’s finally registered what Erica said and at the way Erica’s eyes glint at him, he knows he’s said the wrong thing. Erica cackles as his face hits the table with a _thud._

“I hate you, go away,” he mumbles. He looks up as Erica takes a seat across the table. “Seriously, go away and leave me to my misery.”

“Stop being a drama queen,” Erica rolls her eyes. She gives him a considering look. “There’s a game tonight, if you wanted to come.”

“Game?” Stiles perks up and Erica nods. “Your friends don’t really come, obviously, but I’ll be there as a one-man cheer squad for my boys if you’d like to come watch him play.”

“Your boys,” Stiles repeats and she rolls her eyes at him again. Stiles is beginning to think it’s a thing she does often.

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” She snarks. “Derek, Boyd, and Isaac are all on the team. I will be cheering them on. You can come.” Stiles narrows his eyes at the way she explains it to him; the way a person would explain a difficult concept to a first-grader.

“Rude,” he mutters. He twirls his pencil and thinks about it. He wants to go, obviously. A chance to see Derek Hale all sweaty and running up and down the court? _Yum_. As if she knows exactly what he’s thinking, Erica gives him a smirk and jumps up.

“Game starts at seven. I’ll see you there,” she announces before flouncing away.

Stiles’s head hits the table with another _thud_.

-

That night, Stiles paces back and forth in his room. First, he debates on whether or not he should even go to the game. Then he debates on what he should wear.

“You’re wearing a hole in the ground,” a voice interrupts his internal debates and he jumps, hand clutching at his chest.

“Jesus, what is it with people today, practically scaring me to death?” He mutters, glaring at his dad, who jus gives him a shrug. He’s in his Sherriff uniform, presumably on his way to work, and he leans against the door frame, giving Stiles a long look.

“What’s going on?” He asks finally and Stiles shrugs.

“There’s a basketball game tonight. I was thinking of going, maybe.”

“Didn’t know you were into basketball,” his dad says casually and Stiles just knows his dad knows. His dad is a huge fan of basketball but personally, he’s never taken an interest in playing or watching. So it’s no wonder that he’s looking at Stiles, eyebrows raised.

“Um, I thought I’d finally give it a shot, you know?”

“And why the change of heart, you know, after all my years of begging?” He’s using his Sherriff voice so it’s not long before Stiles breaks.

“Okay, fine, there’s this guy,” he says finally.

“Of course there is,” his dad snorts.

“He’s just so cute and he’s really smart and shy but also kind of an asshole when you get to know him but he has these eyes that you could just lose yourself in and big eyebrows that are all _grr_ but uh, yeah, he’s on the team so I thought I’d check it out,” Stiles blurts, making his dad groan. He covers his face with his hand, shaking his head, like _he’s_ embarrassed for Stiles.

“Just – don’t do something stupid like drink and drive if you end up going out after, okay?” Stiles nods, because even though this was the first lesson his dad taught him when he got his license, his dad still reminds him of it every time. His dad nods in return and turns to leave, before looking over his shoulder. “Oh, and wear that red t-shirt with the blue and red plaid flannel shirt, okay?”

Stiles laughs, giving his dad a grateful look. “Have a good shift, Dad. Love you!”

-

Stiles feels awkward when he walks into the gym. There’s already a good crowd, cheering for the team. Both teams, Beacon Hills and the team from a school called Smithfield, are running drills on the court. He tries to find Derek but he only spots Boyd – #13 – and Isaac – #11.

He stands by the entrance, feeling out of place, when he hears his name. He looks around, scanning the bleachers, until he comes upon Erica furiously waving her hands. He nods at her and begins to walk over, waving through the crowd until he’s standing next to her.

“You made it,” she smiles.

“Yeah, well, my dad’s always been on my case about basketball so I thought I’d finally check it out,” he shrugs casually. Erica snorts.

“Derek’s #4, in case you were wondering,” she says instead but she doesn’t need to because that’s exactly the moment that Derek Hale decides to finally enter the court from the hallway leading to the locker rooms.

And hot _dayum_ , Stiles thinks. If Derek looked good on a regular school day, on game nights he looks positively divine in his dark red #4 jersey and loose basketball shorts – shorts that accentuated his ass in a way that short-circuited Stiles’s brain. Honestly, Stiles didn’t even know he was an ass guy before this moment but he can’t find it in himself to be bothered by it.

His train of thought – and line of vision – is interrupted by loud cheers all around him and Erica jumping up in excitement as the game begins. Stiles is convinced Erica’s cheering could be heard over everyone else’s and he’s sure of it because a certain Hale immediately snaps his gaze towards the bleachers, smiling when he sees Erica and then doing a double-take when he sees Stiles next to her. Derek holds his gaze, clearly surprised to see him, but gives him a soft smile when Stiles offers a feeble wave. Stiles mouths _good luck_ to Derek and he nods before turning his attention back to the ref.

Derek, on the court, is a force to reckon with. He’s the point guard, Erica explains, which means that it’s his job to handle the ball and make sure that Isaac (the shooting guard) gets it so he can make the shot. It’s also his job to run the offense and to run the right plays at the right time – kind of like a quarterback in football. Stiles watches as Derek seamlessly intercepts the ball mid-throw from the rival point guard and thinks, _well, he can handle my balls anytime_. He snorts, shaking his head when Erica throws him a bemused look.

Isaac and Boyd are also kind of awesome, he finds. Isaac’s the shooting guard and true to his position, he’s easily the best shooter on the team, scoring a majority of the points. Boyd, on the other hand, is the center and considering his build, it’s not hard to imagine why he’s good. Together, the three of them are amazing and Stiles cannot fathom for the life of him why it took him so long to get into basketball.

They win the game 48-45, with Isaac hitting a three-pointer just as the final buzzer sounds. Stiles jumps up on cue with Erica, and most of the crowd, cheering and clapping furiously, a huge smile on his face. Derek glances at him again and grins back, wiping the sweat on his face before joining the rest of his teammates in their celebration and lining up to shake the other team’s hands.

“So what’d you think?” Erica asks, as they make their way down the bleachers.

“It was fun,” Stiles nods. “Uh – Derek’s really good. I mean, they’re all really good but uh, yeah.”

Erica nods thoughtfully. “He’s been playing since I can remember. Boyd and Isaac too. Anyways, we’re all probably going to head to Lucky’s after the boys finish up. Feel like joining?”

Stiles wants to – he really does – but he remembers the AP English reading he’d skipped out on thanks to freaking out about what to wear so he shakes his head.

“Sorry, dude, gotta finish up some reading. Maybe next time?” Erica looks like she wants to argue and convince him to come with them but changes her mind, nodding.

“Sure, see ya tomorrow, Stilinski!”

When he falls asleep much later that night, he can’t help but think of the pleased look on Derek’s face when he saw Stiles at the game.

-

After that game, things get good. Like, _really_ good.

He doesn't understand why everyone says Derek Hale doesn't talk much or that he acts like he's better than everyone else. Stiles finds Derek’s pretty funny and snarky and just a little bit of an asshole, just like himself. Sure, Derek's quiet and when he talks, it's with a quiet intensity that sometimes surprises even Stiles but he's sort of really cool.

 

Derek actually talks to him in class and while Lydia shoots him intrigued looks, Stiles ignores her for the most part. If he also spends the entirety of their AP Calculus class blatantly ignoring Erica’s smug looks, well, it’s not like Derek’s ever called him out on it. 

They start spending time at the library once or twice a week too and Stiles is pretty pleased to find that Derek offers pleasant company for all that he doesn’t talk. But the more time they spend together, the more Derek begins to talk and ask _about_ Stiles instead of just focusing on their homework like they used to in the beginning.

“Do you play sports?” Derek had asked him, early on in their study dates, and Stiles had snorted.

“Um, no. The only place where my hand-eye coordination is any good is when I’m planted on my ass in my room shooting zombies or other undead things.” At Derek’s bemused look, he clarifies, “Dude, I’m a 147 pounds soaking wet. Sarcasm is my only defense and I’ve found very early on that for some reason, people don’t take well to a scrawny guy telling them how much they suck.”

“You’re exaggerating. I bet you’d be good at running,” Derek proffers. "You've got long, lean legs that--" He cuts off suddenly, coughing, eyes flicking to the side and ears burning red. 

“Been checking me out, Hale?" Stiles winks. "It's okay, I don't blame you. I'm quite the prize in the looks department, after all."

"You're something, alright," Derek snorts. 

"I appreciate the thought, dude, but the only time I’m good at running is when I’m running from shit I don’t want to deal with. Ja feel?” Stiles gives him a smirk but Derek merely rolls his eyes at him, and turns his attention back to his notebook.

He goes to a few more basketball games, sitting with Erica and cheers heartily every time they win a point. So things are going pretty well on the Derek front.

It’s the Scott front that Stiles finds he has to deal with.

The lacrosse team and the basketball team, Stiles remembers Scott lecturing him, have been bitter rivals for years. Nobody knows exactly how the rivalry started but both teams are the best sports teams of BHHS so they’re constantly trying to one-up each other when it comes to the total number of wins and championship trophies. As a result, there’s a big divide between both teams. And with Jackson and Scott being co-captains of the lacrosse team and Derek being the captain of the basketball team, Stiles realizes he finally understands what it means to be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"So what happens when McCall finds out you've been seeing me in the library?" Derek demands one time, when Stiles off-handedly mentions how stupid he thinks the rivalry is. Stiles looks shocked at the tone because it's the first time he's seen Derek this frustrated, eyes flashing, jaw clenched tight, and lips pursed, but he recovers.

"It's not up to him to determine who I'm friends with," Stiles replies coolly, eyes slightly narrowed in return. 

"In other words, he doesn't know," Derek says contemptuously. "I'm going to be your dirty little secret, yeah?"

"Don't make us sound like star-crossed lovers, Derek. And yeah, I haven't told him out right but he's not an idiot. He knows that I'm in the library two, sometimes three, times a week when I could be sitting at that table with everyone else. And I'm pretty sure he's also noticed your absence from your table. Why is this even an issue?" Stiles defends. 

Derek huffs, looking pained, if anything. He opens and closes his mouth several times like he wants to say something but ultimately opts for looking away, brows furrowed. He takes a deep breath and looks back at Stiles, who still has no idea what made Derek react in such a way. But he nods nonetheless and though Stiles doesn't want to let it go, because he's a bit spiteful to be honest, he does for now. 

"Sorry," Derek mutters. "That was kind of uncalled for."

"It was," Stiles agrees. "But it's cool. I almost expected it." He's lying and they both know it but choose to ignore it in lieu of going back to their calc problem set.

So yeah, he doesn’t get it, if he’s being honest. They really should be joining up and celebrating their wins because goddamit, they’re playing for the _same_ school. Inter-school rivalry Stiles understands, but intra-school rivalry? That’s just dumb, if you ask him. Sadly, nobody ever does.

Understandably, he says nothing of the matter to Scott. Lydia knows and he knows that she knows but she makes no move to say anything, which he’s eternally grateful for, because Scott’s kind of like the best friend he’s never had. Seriously. After only a few weeks of knowing him, Stiles feels they’ve known each other since they were little tykes and have been best friends all this time.

On the other hand, Derek’s kind of amazing, see?

He’s shy and quiet to Stiles’s loud and obnoxious but Stiles quickly comes to realize that when Derek does talk, it’s with a type of dry humor and wit that Stiles really appreciates. For all that he’s supposed to be some kind of a “raging douchenozzle” (Scott’s words), he’s not bad at all.

Stiles has never gotten along much with anyone who doesn’t share his enthusiasm but Derek lets Stiles fill in the silences, lets him do all the talking, almost appreciative of the fact that he doesn’t have to talk as much.

The best part is, Derek doesn’t even interrupt Stiles when he goes off on a tangent – okay, fine, he _rarely_ interrupts – he just looks at Stiles with a fond expression on his face, nodding and humming at all the right places, looking like he’s soaking up all the information Stiles is throwing at him. He gets Stiles and gets the weird quirks Stiles has. He doesn’t care that Stiles named his Jeep Betty or that he loves Doctor Who and Sherlock and Game of Thrones.

And he’s really different from the leather jacket-wearing, Camaro-driving persona he reflects, admitting with a painfully shy smile that his favorite movie of all time is _Love, Actually_ because it’s a Christmas movie and it’s the only movie his entire family sits down to watch every Christmas Eve without fail.

So yeah, Stiles may be a little bit in love because seriously, not even his dad has that much patience with him.

They even begin to text back and forth soon, after Stiles and Derek work on their AP Calc problem set together on a particularly chilly November evening after school. They’re hunched over the table, isolating themselves at the very back of the public library on one of the rare days that Derek doesn’t have basketball practice. They’ve been there for what seems like hours but haven’t made much headway with the problem set at all, to their frustration.

“Okay, we need a break,” Stiles mutters, pushing his notebook away from him and throwing his pencil to the side. He stretches back, smirking internally at the way Derek’s eyes linger on his exposed stomach, before they snap back to his face. Derek flushes, looking like a kid who’s been caught by his mother sneaking a hand in the cookie jar. But he nods and sets his pen down. “Seriously, why the fuck did I think taking AP Calc would be a good idea?”

Derek rolls his eyes animatedly, not new to Stiles’s whining. It happens every time they’re working together on a problem set and Stiles can’t seem to just _know_ the answer, like with every other class.

Derek, on the other hand, is a total math _nerd_. Seriously, Stiles would’ve never known just looking at Derek but he’s a whiz at math. An athlete who’s good at math – who would’ve thought it? A fucking mathlete. Because having eyes that are eighty different colors, a smile that can stop Stiles in his tracks, and the beginnings of a body that’s enough to make any person, straight or not, look at him hungrily wasn’t enough of an achievement already.

“Fuck you, not all us are made perfect okay,” Stiles mumbles petulantly, narrowing his eyes at Derek who merely scoff in return.

“Math is all about practice, Stiles,” Derek says with the same patience that’s become practiced, especially since this isn’t the first time they’ve had the same argument. Stiles merely huffs in response, choosing not to deign Derek with actual words. Math, schmath.

“The only reason you’re getting annoyed is because you’re not used to actually being challenged by numbers,” Derek points out.

“Numbers are stupid,” Stiles replies instead. Derek snorts, shaking his head. “Whatever, dude, shut up. You’re stupid too.”

Derek laughs, a rare occurrence for them, so Stiles quickly soaks up the sound. It’s a soft, musical laugh that reminds Stiles of how utterly fucked he is.

-

The biggest rivals of the BHHS basketball team other than the lacrosse team happens to be a rival team from Davenport Prep School. Naturally, leading up to the game, Derek is antsy and constantly on edge. He’s feeling the pressure, especially when Stiles finds out that there’s potentially a scout coming to check out the players. Playing pro ball isn’t the endgame for Derek but he wants to play college ball.

Game night, Stiles gets together with Erica early enough and decks out in the school colors. The gym is packed when they get there and they spend more time than necessary to find good seats.

“Didn’t realize this game’s going to be so important,” he mutters, looking around the horde of people surrounding them.  

Erica flicks a lock of blonde hair over the shoulder, eyes scanning the court for Boyd. She grins and waves when they make eye contact.

“Davenport’s the biggest sports rival of Beacon Hills. All the games against them are important,” she remarks off-handedly. “Now shut up, the game’s about to start.”

The game is intense and even that is kind of an understatement. By now Stiles has attended a good share of games so it’s not hard for him to recognize how hard the team is actually playing. They’re pulling together, mapping out every single play, and keeping time to the seconds. He can see the effects of the pressure Derek must feel; during the entirety of the game, Derek hardly looks towards the direction of the bleachers, as if blocking out the hundred or so people yelling and mocking Davenport’s shoddy defense.

Derek’s shoulders are tense and any discussions between the players and the coach are done in short statements, a jerky nod, and contrite expression on his face. Stiles wishes he could just do something as simple as place his hands on Derek’s shoulders, calm him down, and tell him that it won’t be the end of the world but he’s not naïve enough to believe that it’d actually work.

By the time the last quarter starts, Stiles begins to feel the nervousness as well, a deep roiling feeling settling at the bottom of his stomach. His heart is beating too fast, hands clenched tightly into fists as they rest on his knees, his body upright. Every time their team scores a point, Davenport comes right back and scores one as well.

He’s biting his lip in nervousness – and sheer frustration at how good Davenport is – when he feels Erica place her hand on his in comfort. He gives her a feeble smile, which she returns brightly.

“Relax,” she murmurs, rubbing small circles over the back of his hand with her thumb. “We’ve got this. We’re up by four.”

No sooner had she said it, one of the players from Davenport snatches the ball and effortlessly does a lay-up, sinking the ball into the hoop off the backboard. The sound of boos and loud groans fill the gymnasium and Stiles glowers at the player; the back of his jersey identifies him as Rollins, #6.

“You were saying?” He bites out to Erica who wisely chooses not to reply.

In the end, it’s a close game but Beacon Hills takes the win 55-54, off a rebound play. The second the ball sinks in the hoop, the buzzer sounds and there’s simultaneous cheers and yells coming from everyone in the gym. Stiles and Erica jump up, throwing their arms in the air and then around each other, bodies filled up with adrenaline over how close it actually got there for a second. They beam at each other and then turn to the court, cheering so loud that Stiles believes he won’t be able to speak tomorrow. But it doesn’t matter because they _won_.

The team itself had erupted in celebrations with the benched players and the coach swarming the court, jumping around in a state of utter chaos, hands slapping each other on the back and hugging and whooping with as much pandemonium as a group of adrenaline-filled teenage boys can muster.

Before Stiles can even process what’s happening, Erica’s already grabbing his hand and dragging him behind her as she rushes towards the court, weaving effortlessly through the pile of sweaty boys until they see Boyd, at which point, she yells excitedly and lets Stiles go in favor of jumping on her boyfriend who grins and swirls her around in a circle.

Stiles begins to feel squished and out of place, already inching back towards the bleachers, before he feels a arm grab him by the shoulders and he comes face-to-face with a beaming Derek. He doesn’t even think about it before he’s tumbling forwards at the hot, sweaty mess that’s Derek, winding his arms around Derek’s shoulders, in a tight hug.

It’s gross and he feels little droplets of sweat from Derek’s head on the side of his head, slinking down, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s _hugging_ Derek, okay? There’s skin-to-skin contact happening and it’s not even a flimsy five-second hug – it’s a prolonged, tightly-wrapped hug that leaves Stiles craving for even more.

“Congrats,” he grins at Derek, when they’ve finally separated. “It looked really rough there for a second.”

“Yeah,” Derek smiles but doesn’t deny the statement. “We pulled through though. Somehow, we always seem to.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to get that,” Stiles murmurs.

Before he can say anything else, Erica jumps on Derek’s back and he laughs, arms winding around her to keep her from sliding off.

“Der-bear, I’m so fucking proud of you!” She squeals, mashing her face against his neck. If it wasn’t for Erica’s very blatant love for Boyd and her brotherly-adoration for Derek, Stiles would be severely jealous at how easy Derek and Erica’s relationship seems. She giggles before sliding off Derek and prancing off to find Isaac, undoubtedly to do the same thing to him.

“Um, I gotta go talk to the Coach for a bit about the game. Debrief and stuff, you know? But will you hang around? Maybe come to our celebrative dinner at Lucky’s?” Derek’s clearly nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his jersey and running a hand through his dampened hair, pushing it out of his face. Stiles widens his eyes in shock and elation but perhaps Derek takes it to mean the opposite because he begins to backtrack, “I mean – obviously, you don’t have to! If you have something else to do – yeah, it’s not like important or anything but I just thought—“ He breaks off, a pained look on his face.

Stiles smiles so big he’s afraid his face will break. “No! That is, yeah, totally, I’ll wait! I’d love to come,” he ends lamely. So much for playing it cool, he thinks annoyed, but it hardly even matters because Derek nods, obviously pleased before ducking out to speak to the Coach, following him in the direction of the locker rooms. He gives one last lingering look at Stiles, as if checking to see if Stiles is still there, before disappearing from Stiles’s line of sight.

-

An hour later, Stiles is still lounging at the bleachers, watching the janitors clean the gymnasium floor, picking up the random water bottle or food wrapper. He yawns, checking the time on his cell phone. The mass of people who’d come to see the game had cleared out a short while after the game ended. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had hung around for a fair bit, keeping Stiles company but Stiles had sent them on their way to the diner, promising them that he and Derek would join them soon enough.

That was well over fifteen minutes ago. Even most of the players had cleared out by now.

 **> Erica, 9:06pm:** Are you and Derek making out?

He flushes.

 **< Stiles, 9:08pm:** Erica, wtf.

 **> Erica, 9:09pm:** It’s a fair question. Why else aren’t you two here yet?

 **< Stiles, 9:09pm:** That’s a good question. Still waiting on Derek. Bored.

 **> Erica, 9:11pm:** Go find him.

 **< Stiles, 9:12pm:** But he’s probably showering or something.

 **> Erica, 9:13pm:** So? Isn’t a hot and heavy locker room make out one of your kinks?

Stiles widens his eyes, choking. He can just see her cackling loudly, immensely proud of the text.

 **< Stiles, 9:13pm:** ERICA.

 **> Erica, 9:14pm:** HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

The janitors are almost finished cleaning up and Stiles knows that they’re going to come up to him any second now asking him to move so they could clean and shove the bleachers back into their storage position.

He rolls his eyes, shoving the phone in his pocket, and sighs. He doesn’t want to think of it as listening to Erica but he should check in on Derek if it’s taken him this long. If nothing then to just make sure the idiot hasn’t drowned in the shower or something.

It’s pretty easy to find the locker room and Stiles lets himself in. As suspected, it’s empty but as he walks closer to the middle of the room, he can faintly hear the shower running in the background. He walks towards the showers, unsure of what he’s going to find, because now he’s paranoid and actually thinks that perhaps Derek collapsed or something after the game and is probably dying because nobody thought to check on him.

He’s almost at the showers, ready to burst in, when the sound of running water stops abruptly and he hears wet footsteps padding in his direction and dear god, now he’s faced with Derek’s half-naked body.

Stiles squeaks, eyes widening in shock, as Derek’s eyes mimic his reaction, lips parting in surprise at seeing Stiles. Stiles slaps a hand over his eyes, swiveling around so fast that he’s surprised he didn’t fall on his ass again.

“Stiles, what are you doing here?” Derek asks, dumbly.

“I thought you were dying because you took so long!” Stiles exclaims. His eyes are still clenched shut although he doesn’t know why because Derek’s behind him.

He’s still processing the sight of Derek with a flimsy towel wrapped around his hips, okay? Stiles does _not_ have time to be logical or rational right now.

There’s more sound of wet padding footsteps until they stop in front of him.

“You thought I was dying,” Derek repeats flatly. Stiles doesn’t have to open his eyes to know how hard Derek’s probably rolling his eyes at him. “Oh for god’s sake, Stiles, open your damn eyes.”

Stiles peeks his eyes open slowly, determined to keep his line of vision above Derek’s neck. Derek looks at him, eyebrows raised, and there’s something about that face that makes Stiles’s dick twitch in his pants. He gulps audibly, praying to any higher power that’s listening that Derek hasn’t noticed his reaction.

Judging by small twitch in Derek’s lips, Stiles knows praying is a lost cause. Nobody’s listening, apparently.

“Congrats, on the game,” he says instead, because _holy shit_ , he needs to say something or the silence is going to kill him.

“You said that already,” Derek replies, taking one step towards him and then another and another. Stiles wills his body to move back but he’s firmly rooted where he’s standing. It doesn’t take long for Derek to come right up to Stiles, stopping just short of their bodies touching.

Stiles tries to look elsewhere but the way Derek’s eyes are boring into his, he’s unable to look anywhere else. He notices a droplet of water falling from Derek’s still-wet hair, slinking down the side of his face and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching out a hand and wiping away at the spot.

It only takes that brief touch for Derek to inhale sharply, eyes clouding over with _want_ , a look that Stiles has only seen in porn. He’s not sure who moves first but they meet in the middle, slotting their mouths together, first with a touch of gentleness that slowly gives way to weeks of desperation finally making itself known.

Derek’s arms circle around him, pulling him closer, as Stiles grips Derek’s hips holding on tightly. It’s not Stiles’s first kiss, by any means. In eighth grade, he’d kissed Daisy Atkins on a dare at a birthday party and then in the ninth-grade, he’d had his first girlfriend, Heather Daniels, so he’d kissed her fairly often too.

But Stiles doesn’t remember it ever feeling like this.

With Derek, there’s desperation, passion, fire, and everything coming together so well that it makes him wonder what took them so long. Why haven’t they been doing this all this time? They could’ve been making out weeks ago! Stiles opens his mouth further, allowing Derek to push his tongue in and suddenly, it’s a whole new ball game.

Derek’s mouth is warm and pliant against his but he’s not afraid to take control, nipping at Stiles’s bottom lip, teasing him gently, playfully. Stiles moves one of his hands, fingers sliding through Derek’s damp hair, because he can now, and sighs in pleasure into Derek’s mouth.

He’s not sure when it happens but somehow Derek’s maneuvered them so that Stiles’s back is against a wall of lockers, hands roaming everywhere along Stiles’s body as Stiles does the same. Only it feels better for Stiles, he thinks, because he gets to touch Derek’s naked skin. Derek thinks the same because he breaking away and staring at Stiles, fingers playing with the hem of Stiles’s shirt, silently asking for permission.

Stiles nods and Derek pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side. His lips part as Derek’s eyes darken at the sight of Stiles half-naked, drinking in every detail, every freckle painted on Stiles’s skin.

It unnerves Stiles that he’s this affected by Derek just _looking_ at him but that thought quickly disappears when Derek reaches out and rakes down Stiles’s side with blunt fingernails. Stiles shudders at the feeling, his own eyes clouding with lust, and he smiles wickedly as he pulls in Derek towards him with his hips.

It’s weird that Stiles finds it decidedly _not_ weird that they’re standing there, sharing the same break but making no further move towards each other. It’s an intimate feeling that Stiles has never felt with anyone else before; he’s a teenage boy with a very healthy appetite for anything of sexual nature but at this very moment, he finds it supremely content to just stand here and just be close to Derek.

All that changes though when Derek leans forward and noses at Stiles’s neck, dragging his lips up and down Stiles’s neck and then jaw and then cheeks, placing gentle kisses in their wake. Stiles fingers lightly at Derek’s hips, playing with the edge of the towel, hoping that Derek understands where he’s going with this and where he wants to go.

Derek pauses, leaning back slightly, giving Stiles an indescribable look. Stiles, for his part, just whines at the loss of Derek and something on Stiles’s face must give away how much he needs this with Derek because Derek’s dragging his lips against his jaw down to his neck again.

Stiles grips the back of Derek’s neck with one hand and almost stills when he feels Derek’s fingers fumble with Stiles’s jeans, opening the button and pushing down the zipper, achingly slow. He feels his dick twitch at the anticipation and Derek must feel it too because his lips trail down his chest, without breaking contact.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groans, throwing his head back, taking deep breaths, and then peeking down to see Derek nosing at his happy trail. He looks at Stiles through his lashes, his face screaming _want_ before he’s taking Stiles’s dick into his mouth in one fluid motion. “ _Hnngh_ , shit Derek, are you trying to kill me?”

As expected, Derek says nothing, but his actions do all the talking for him. He pauses, pulling back long enough to give Stiles a wolfish smirk, a predatory gleam in his eyes, before putting his mouth back around Stiles’s cock, hot and wanting.

And God, that _mouth_.

Stiles isn’t an expert in the area – after all, Derek’s the first actual guy he’s ever been with – but that mouth should be awarded. Like, it’s fucking amazing how apt Derek is at handling balls both on and off the court. No wonder he’s team captain.

No but seriously, all the fucking accolades to Derek’s mouth alone. Actually, to Derek in general because the way his hands are slowly moving to his ass, squeezing his cheeks, is sinful when paired with the way his mouth is bobbing up and down Stiles’s cock. And it’s not even like Derek maintains his speed, okay? Like on second he’s taking in Stiles’s dick hard and fast and then he quickly switches gears and takes him in painfully slow.

“Where the – _ahhh, fuck, Derek!_ – did you learn this,” Stiles pants, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to breathe. Derek takes out Stiles’s dick out of his mouth with a wet _pop!_ and smirks at Stiles. “Hope you’re happy about this, asshole. I can’t breathe over here and you’re laughing.”

“You mean this is all it takes to shut you up? You should talk more often then,” Derek mocks, bringing a hand and curling it around Stiles’s dick, moving it up and down, in slow and then quick jerks, eliciting a hiss from Stiles.

“Asshole,” Stiles mutters brokenly.

“Mm, maybe later,” Derek says, eyes pooling with lust and more importantly, promise.

Derek’s hands work like his mouth; they know exactly what to do and how to make Stiles breathless all over again. He rotates between slowly jerking Stiles, cupping at his balls, and then thumbing at the head of his dick. Stiles’s fingernails dig at Derek’s shoulders, feeling raw, and his head falls back on the lockers behind him.

“You’re a fucking tease,” he bites out, giving Derek a weak glare when he hears a throaty chuckle.

He’s instantly weary though when he sees a decidedly predatory expression on Derek’s face and he regrets all of his life decisions when Derek asks, “Wanna fuck my mouth?”

And, yep, Stiles’s brain has officially taken a vacation and he’s done. Like steak. Stick a fork in Stiles, because he’s done.

“Wha—are – are you fucking serious right now?” Stiles groans, because how is Derek even real anymore?

Derek smirks, because he knows there’s no way in hell Stiles would turn down that offer, and with one last jerk, he shifts forward again, taking in Stiles’s dick in his mouth. His hands resume their position on Stiles’s ass, giving him an encouraging squeeze.

Fuck, Stiles is so glad he’s against a set of lockers because seriously, otherwise, he’d be on the floor right about now. He gulps, nervous, “Tell me if you want to stop though, kay?”

Derek makes an impatient noise and that’s all it takes for Stiles to grip Derek’s hair with his hands to keep him still before he begins moving his cock in and out of Derek’s hot mouth. He goes slow, because he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s seen this happen in pornos all the time and they may be in a locker room, fulfilling the age-old sports porno cliché but he doesn’t want to get cocky and fuck this up for Derek.

Heh – get cocky.

He sniggers internally before he’s brought back to reality when Derek pinches his ass cheeks, making another impatient sound. He looks back at Derek, who’s shooting him a look that clearly states, _Are we gonna do this for real or what?_

Stiles swears before nodding. And then he goes for it, tightens his hands on Derek’s hair, and fucks into his mouth with a faster, steadier pace. Derek groans, closing his eyes in pleasure as he takes every bit of Stiles’s cock into his mouth without complaints and Stiles thinks he’s never seen a more beautiful sight.

His hips snap back and forth, getting a mind of their own, and Stiles loses himself in the feel of Derek’s mouth on him. Every time his pace falters, Derek gives him another pinch, which makes his hips work a little bit faster and it’s not long before his breath gets more shallow and he feels the familiar sensation pooling inside of him.

He’s going to come any second now and Derek must realize it too because he shifts a hand slightly to thumb at Stiles’s hole and _oh holy mother of pearl_.

That’s all it takes for Stiles hips to buck, pushing his dick to the back of Derek’s throat, before he’s coming in hot, thick spurts so hard that he almost whites out.

Almost as soon as he realizes what he’s done, his heartbeat rockets in fear and he begins to draw back but Derek holds him in place. He looks up at Stiles, maintaining eye contact, as he laps at Stiles’s dick and fucking _swallows_.

Stiles trembles, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regain his breath as Derek slides off with a slick noise and gets up, tongue flickering over his red, swollen lips to get every bit of Stiles’s cum still left.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Stiles shudders. Derek snorts before he pushes Stiles into the lockers again and Stiles takes this time to uncurl the towel from Derek’s hips and throw it to the side. His eyes flick down to Derek’s length, hissing when he realizes Derek’s painfully hard and already leaking.

He wraps a hand around the base of Derek’s dick just as Derek fits their mouths together and holy shit, Stiles has never gone down on a guy before but he’s shocked to realize that he can not only taste himself in Derek’s mouth but that he actually _likes_ it.

Stiles grips Derek’s hip with his free hand as he moves his other hand up and down Derek’s dick in slow, last strokes, and he must be doing the right thing judging by how Derek’s hips jerk forward in response.

Derek pulls his mouth away, panting, but Stiles keeps going. He squeezes tightly and jerks him off, alternating between lazy and fast strokes, much like Derek had done with him. He’s fully intent on going down on Derek after a few more strokes but that’s all it takes for Derek to go still and come all over his hand, a few beads landing on his stomach.

Derek sags in relief against Stiles’s shoulder, panting hot and heavy, trying to regain his own breath. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his hands because he doesn’t want to wipe them off like some fucking noob so when Derek finally leans back enough, he looks at Derek and grins.

Derek looks confused for a second but his lips part in surprise when Stiles brings his hand to his mouth and licks every bit of cum on it, tonguing at his palm slowly with a calculated pace.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Derek mutters, before he jerking forward to kiss Stiles filthily, and this time, Stiles tastes him and Derek together. He groans at how good it feels, before cupping Derek’s face and pulling back enough to give him a blinding smile.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says, moving his thumbs against Derek’s cheekbones. Derek gives him a soft smile and this time, Stiles’s heart beats not because of the sex but because of what it can lead to.

Needless to say, neither of them make it to Lucky’s.

-

Stiles can’t help the skip in his step when he gets out of his Jeep later that night. He’s whistling, for fuck’s sake, but he can’t help it. It’s a scene from a 80s movie; sun shining, birds chirping, the full she-bang. Except it’s night so there’s no sun or birds but goddamit, Stiles doesn’t have time for logic right now. He just hooked up with Derek _Hale. Derek fucking Hale._

 _Take that Jackson,_ he thinks, feeling petty. If he had Jackson’s number, he’d text him that too. Realistically, he wants to stand on his roof and shout it at the top of his lungs. Obviously he doesn’t but that’s only because he can’t climb for shit.

He’s almost at the porch when he finally sees Lydia sitting regally on the porch swing, thumbing through her phone with a frown.

“Lydia?”

She looks up at him but her frown doesn’t go away. “I need your help,” she says instead, direct and to the point. Stiles gapes at her but she shoots him an impatient look that knocks him out of his reverie and he opens the door, letting them both in.

His dad’s at work so they’ve got the house to themselves. Stiles flings his backpack on the couch before leading Lydia into the kitchen and she sits at the breakfast table.

“Anything to eat or drink?” He offers because it’s the polite thing to do and also because Lydia Martin herself has deigned to look for him, instead of merely summoning him to her. She shakes her head stiffly so Stiles sighs, grabbing a bottle of water for himself, and planting himself at the table in front of her.

“Jackson’s being a dick,” she says tartly. Stiles resists the urge to groan because, yeah, this is nothing new. He says so. “Yeah well, I was going to let him take me to the winter formal but I think I want to have some fun with him instead. And I need your help.”

“Um – wanna break it down for us lesser mortals, Lyds?”

“I want you to take me to the formal instead,” she replies, her tone suggesting that the answer was fairly obvious. Stiles begs to differ.

“And how’s that going to affect Jackass?”

“Jackson,” she corrects automatically, frowning when she realizes she’d just inadvertently defended the guy she’s supposed to be angry at.

“That’s what I said,” he snipes.

“He hates you and you hate him,” she says but Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fairly certain most of the male population hates him and he hates everyone who’s not Danny,” he points out. Lydia looks like it’s painful for her to even talk to Stiles anymore.

“Yes, Stiles, but you’re the only one who isn’t scared of him. You’re not intimidated by him.”

Stiles hums. “True. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Does this have anything to do with Derek?” Lydia asks, arching her brow. Stiles flushes and by the victorious look on Lydia’s face, she knows she’s got it in one. “He doesn’t go to dances anyways, Stiles. Look, I’m not asking you to date me. I’m asking you to take me to the formal – one that Derek Hale won’t even be at – so that Jackson can get some sense in him and start appreciating how good he has it.”

Thing is, Stiles can’t say no to this. And it’s not because she’s reassured him about Derek and his attendances at school dances, but it’s because he’s never actually seen, or even heard, of Lydia Martin asking someone for a favor. People bend over backwards asking _her_ to for favors but Lydia has never approached someone herself for something. She’s fierce and loyal and strong and a force to be reckoned with all on her own.

But the Lydia sitting in front of him right now is not the domineering Lydia he’s seen. This Lydia is unsure, biting her lip, with something in her eyes that gives off a faint wave of a desperate plea for help. This Lydia is one that nobody probably gets to see – a Lydia who’s more insecure about herself than people realize – and it’s painful for Stiles to watch her like this.

So Stiles does the only thing he knows is decent. He agrees and knows he’s made the right choice when Lydia offers him her most genuine smile in return, shoulders bleeding of the tension they held not more than five minutes ago.

-

The next day Stiles is still residing happily on the moon, barring his conversation with Lydia.

He knew it wasn’t going to be a big deal, especially because he’d been reassured by Lydia multiple times that Derek does _not_ do dances, much less dances where they have to dress up in suits and dresses. Between Derek’s absences at these events and their lack of label on whatever this thing is between them, Stiles was quick to reassure Lydia that he’d have no problem helping her out with her little Jackson problem.

And then he’d gushed about Derek like a twelve year-old preteen girl while Lydia had listened with a practiced ear and a gleam in her eyes.

So he’s practically floating into lunch, feet already carrying him to his usual lunch table, where he and Derek had planned to have lunch. Together. With all their friends. For the first time. He’s fidgeting nervously because he’s the first one there but it doesn’t take long for Scott, Jackson, Allison, and Lydia to join him.

Jackson’s unusually tense because Danny’s at home sick and it takes a moment for Stiles to realize how out of place he must feel during his fights with Lydia without the obvious support of Danny. Lydia’s tied to Allison who’s tied to Scott who’s tied to Stiles but Jackson isn’t as close to any of them. Stiles feels bad and he tries to smile at Jackson but he only gets a heated glare in return, forgetting for a second that Jackson’s probably even more angry at Stiles because _he’s_ the one taking Lydia to Winter Formal now.

Well, there goes that plan of trying to nice, Stiles muses. He looks around subtly, chewing on his tuna sandwich, to see if he can find Derek anywhere but he’s nowhere to be found and neither are Erica, Boyd, and Isaac.

“Looking for someone, Stiles?” Lydia smirks, daintily biting into a strawberry.

“Nope,” he replies, narrowing his eyes at her. Stiles ignores the _pang_ in his stomach – and his heart – when he realizes that Derek’s probably a no-show and idly stares at his food.

Lydia and Allison are happily chatting away about their dresses; the cuts, the colors, the styles, while Scott is nodding wisely, like he knows exactly what they’re talking about. He doesn’t. Stiles knows, Scott knows, and the girls know, but it’s cute that he’s at least trying. Truthfully, Stiles expects nothing else from actual puppy dog Scott McCall.

Stiles fishes out his phone from his back pocket and checks to see if maybe Derek texted him but there’s nothing new. So he sends one instead.

 **< Stiles, 12:12pm:** Hey, are you still coming for lunch?

It’s another ten minutes before he gets a reply, one that makes him frown.

 **> Derek, 12:23pm:** No.

 **< Stiles, 12:24pm: ** What’s going on? Is everything okay?

 **> Derek, 12:27pm:** Busy.

By now, Stiles has long abandoned his sandwich and he stares hard at the phone, trying to figure out what happened. While Derek’s not the type to text essays (that’s more of Stiles’s thing anyways), he’s also not one to reply with short, one-word answers.

He gets his answer when he sees Erica stomping towards their table with a furious expression on her face and Boyd following her quietly.

“Erica, do you know what—“

“Did you like it, Stilinski? Playing with his feelings like that?” She hisses and at once, all the conversation at the table stops. They turn to stare at Stiles, confused, and he looks at Erica with the same expression.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Lydia snaps and Erica turns her attention to the redhead.

“Oh, like you have no idea.”

“Reyes, just tell us what’s going on and go away,” Jackson snarls back.

Erica laughs bitterly, “I’m talking about your _friend_ going to the formal with _your_ girlfriend, dickbag.”

“So?” Scott asks, glancing at Stiles in confusion and he shrugs back feebly, still not understanding what the blonde was getting at.

“ _After_ he got involved with Derek,” she finishes and suddenly Stiles gets it.

“Erica, listen—“

“Oh, fuck you, Stilinski. You’re a pathetic asshole who probably thought it’d be fun to play around with someone and then, what? Laugh about it with your lacrosse buddies?” She growls. Her eyes are wild, jaw clenched tightly, and lips pursed. She shakes her head. “You’re sad, Stilinski, real sad if this is how you get your laughs.”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond but before he can, Boyd steps up and grabs Erica gently at the elbow and pulls her away. She looks like she wants to stay and ream out Stiles some more but something on Boyd’s face must have told her to stop so she throws one last heated glare at Stiles and stomps away. Stiles’s heart is beating fast, and he feels sick all of a sudden, like he wants to throw up.

He looks at Boyd helplessly, who stares at him for what seems like hours before finally muttering, “He’s in the library.” Stiles gives him a thankful smile and Boyd nods, before following Erica.

“What just happened?” Scott asks, more in general than directly to Stiles. Lydia and Allison look at Stiles, understandingly, and he’s already shoving stuff in his backpack and fumbling with his lunch tray on his way out. Allison grabs his wrist and gives him a pitying look.

“Go, I’ll take care of your tray for you,” she says softly. He smiles at her gratefully and presses a quick kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll explain later,” he calls out before practically running to the library.

Stiles finds Derek hunched over their AP Calculus book in the back corner of the library. He has his big headphones on his head and he’s writing furiously, with quick, sharp strokes, lips set in a tight line and concentration unwavering. There aren’t a lot of people around, thankfully, so Stiles steels himself mentally before walking over to him. Derek doesn’t look up even when he approaches or sits directly in front of him at the table so it’s not until Stiles taps him on the shoulder that Derek finally looks up at him, bleary-eyed. He blinks a few times before he seems to finally recognize Stiles and he narrows his eyes in return.

“What,” he asks, flatly. “I’m kind of busy, here.”

“I thought we were supposed to have lunch together?” Stiles asks quietly instead, and he hates how blank Derek’s face gets.

“Right. Well I’m busy, which is what I texted you so if you’re done, you can leave,” Derek replies, monotonously, and he turns back to his notebook.

“Look, I was trying to find you today to I could tell you but—“

“But you’ve got nothing to explain. Whatever happened between us was nothing, clearly; it was a mistake. And as soon as you got your chance with Her Majesty Lydia Martin, you took it,” Derek says simply, glancing up at Stiles.

“No, listen—“

Derek narrows his eyes. “Fuck you, Stilinski. It’s my fault, really, for thinking that you were different than them but truth is, you’re all cut from the same cloth. You must have laughed so hard, right? _Hey, guess how easy Derek Hale really is! Hey, guess how deep he took my dick, begging me to fuck his mouth?_ ” He mocks Stiles, lips curling into a snarl.

The rage on Derek’s face is evident of the humiliation he clearly feels and Stiles just wants to wrap his arms around Derek and hug him as tight as humanely possible. But he’s frozen in his seat, like a deer in headlights, and he feels like he’s drowning.

This is wrong, so wrong, but Stiles doesn’t know how to fix it. His mouth doesn’t want to move, not under the weight of Derek’s withering stare, and he has no idea what he could even say to make Derek believe Stiles in the first place.

“Derek, it was never like that, please hear me out,” he croaks finally, the corner of his eyes beginning to tear up but Derek’s already holding a hand up.

“Please just leave me alone, Stiles,” he says quietly. “You’ve had your fun so please just go.”

Stiles wants to argue. He wants to sit there and make Derek listen and then he wants to curl up around him and pepper his face with kisses and show him exactly what he means to Stiles but he can’t.

Not when Derek’s looking at him, anger draining away from his face, and sheer exhaustion taking its place. It’s the face that his father used to make shortly after his mom died and Stiles had started acting out in school. It’s the face that told Stiles that he’s fucked up yet again and someone’s gotten hurt because of his actions. It’s the face that makes Stiles nod numbly at Derek and leave.

- 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, when he hears two knocks on his door. He doesn’t respond, just looks at the door, and a few short seconds later, the door opens and Scott pops his head in. Scott takes one look at Stiles before sighing and coming in, shutting the door behind him and sitting on the desk chair.

“So you and Derek Hale,” he starts, looking at Stiles expectantly but Stiles says nothing. “What happened?”

“Broke his heart,” Stiles says finally.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna shoot some zombies?” Scott sighs. Stiles looks at him and gives a short nod.

He sets up the game quietly and they play for a while, with only the sounds of guns shooting and various other sound effects to keep them company. It’s not long before Stiles gives a quiet sigh, pauses the game, and tosses his controller to the side.

“I fucked up,” he murmurs finally. Scott takes the hint and turns his body towards him but says nothing. “We hooked up in the locker room after the Davenport game yesterday and it was fine, you know? We were going to try and have everyone sit together to see if we can all get along and shit but then I came home and Lydia asked me to go to the formal with her because Jackson and her had a fight or whatever and she just wanted to make him jealous or something. And I said yes because Erica told me that Derek doesn’t really go to dances anyways so I didn’t think it was a big deal and I wanted to tell him about it today but obviously he heard about it and thought that I’d played him or whatever. So now, he hates me and I kinda hate me and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He looks at Scott, lost. “I’ve never felt like this before, Scotty. He – Derek’s amazing, okay? He challenges me and fights me and used to look at me like I was the only person in the room, you know? And today, he looked at me like I was the biggest disappointment ever and I felt like curling into a little ball. He looked at me like he hated me and I – I don’t know what to do. I need to fix it but I have no idea how,” Stiles finishes quietly. He peers at Scott, helpless, and is surprised to see Scott give him a small smile.

“He’s your Allison, huh?”

“I guess,” Stiles laughs but then sobers. He gives Scott a determined look. “How do I fix it?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I may know who can help,” he says, picking up his phone and thumbing at it before holding it to his ear. After a few seconds, he asks into the phone, “Lyds, you busy?”

- 

Stiles spends all week trying to get Derek to talk to him but Erica and Isaac had turned into his fierce protectors, taking all too much enjoyment in refusing to entertain any request from Stiles. The texts and calls he’s sent to Derek were ignored, as he suspected.

So it stands to reason that the night of the formal, Stiles paces back and forth in the living room, much like he did before the first basketball game he went to. His stomach is tied in knots, his body filled to the brim with nervous energy that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. So he just keeps on pacing back and forth.

His dad is puttering about in his room, trying to find the camera because the second he saw Stiles in a suit, he’d teared up in the manly way that all dads do; choking up, looking at Stiles like he doesn’t even recognize him, immediately looking elsewhere to hide the tears, and then making excuses to find the camera.

Stiles shifts his gaze to the stack of white poster boards lying innocuously on the coffee table and a new wave of nervousness hits him. What if tonight doesn’t end well? What if he fucks it up again? What if Derek hates him and never wants to see him ever again?

And then he thinks, well, Derek almost hates him right now and he pretty much doesn’t want to see him anyways so even if this plan doesn’t work, it wont change things too much right? Aside from making Stiles feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out again, not even for food or video games, it can’t get any worse, right?

It’s with that thought that he’s standing on the porch of the Hale House, holding up the stack of white poster boards and a portable stereo. He steels himself and rings the doorbell.

It takes a minute of him standing outside in the chilly weather before the door opens and woah, it’s Derek. He’d been expecting his sisters or hell, even one of his parents, but nope. Derek narrows his eyes at him.

“Derek, honey, who is it?” Derek opens his mouth to answer back but Stiles discards the first blank poster board and draws his attention to the one that says, _SAY IT’S CAROL SINGERS_.

Derek pauses, giving Stiles an unreadable look, and Stiles considers a win when he doesn’t immediately slam the door in his face. Instead, Derek shouts back, “Carol singers!” and leans against the door frame, motioning to Stiles in a way that says, _well get on with it then._

Stiles grins, pushes play on the stereo, and a soft rendition of _Silent Night_ begins to play. He sets the stereo on the porch beside him and grins big at Derek, who looks like he’s fighting off a smile himself. Stiles takes that as an encouragement to continue.

He throws the second board aside, revealing one that says _WITH ANY LUCK BY NEXT YEAR…_

As Derek’s smile gets a little bigger, Stiles feels a wave of accomplishment and begins to flip through to the next board, _I’LL BE GOING OUT WITH YOU_ (Okay, so he had to make _some_ changes, obviously). Derek chuckles at the fourth poster board, the one made to be a collage of pictures of Derek; Derek on the court, Derek chilling with his friends, basically, any pictures Facebook offered of Derek that Stiles could get his hands on.

He goes on flipping, pausing long enough for Derek to read the messages:

_BUT FOR NOW, LET ME SAY_

_WITHOUT HOPE OR AGENDA_

_JUST BECAUSE IT’S (ALMOST) CHRISTMAS_

_(AND AT ALMOST CHRISTMAS YOU TELL THE TRUTH)_

_TO ME, YOU ARE PERFECT_

_AND MY WASTED HEART WILL LOVE YOU_

_UNTIL YOU LOOK LIKE THIS_

_[Picture of a mummy]_

_MERRY (ALMOST) CHRISTMAS_

By the end, Stiles has the biggest smile plastered on his face, one that’s only rivaled by Derek. Derek’s face had gotten more and more red as Stiles had flipped through the poster boards so he stands there frozen, unsure of what to do.

“ Aw Derek! That’s so cute!” Someone coos behind Derek and that’s all it takes for the spell to break and Stiles reddens immediately. Derek swivels around, surprised, to find his _entire family_ standing behind him, hearts in their eyes. Okay, technically only in Mr. and Mrs. Hale’s eyes because Laura and Cora are giving him twin smirks and creepy Uncle Peter is leering at Stiles.

“You sure all that was meant for Derek though?” Laura teases, a glint in her eyes.

Derek coughs pointedly, turning back to Stiles, and closes the door behind him so they’re both standing on the porch for some much needed privacy.

Stiles can still hear faint cooing noises inside and he’s unsure whether the redness on his cheeks is from embarrassment or from the chilly weather. But Derek is looking at him with soft eyes and even softer smile and Stiles’s heart begins to race at the sight.

“So – um, yeah,” Stiles says lamely. There’s a lot he wants to say to Derek, he wants to offer him reassurances and cuddle him and love him but he’s said everything he needed to say. The rest is up to Derek.

“Good point,” Derek teases and then turns serious. “Why aren’t you at the dance with Lydia?”

“Had to be here,” Stiles shrugs. At Derek’s raised eyebrow, he continues, “I don’t care about the stupid dance, Derek. I care about you.”

“You still agreed to go with Lydia.”

“She wanted to make Jackson jealous and I had it on good authority that you don’t go to formals so I didn’t see the harm,” Stiles replies. He shoves his hands into his jacket pocket for added warmth.

“I – I like _you_ , moron,” Stiles argues. “Not Lydia!”

“Everyone likes Lydia.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. “Do you want me to like her? Why are you so fixated on Lydia, Derek?”

“Because, fuck Stiles, I really like you and I want to be with you! I want to take you out to Lucky’s after _every_ game and I want you to come to all of my games. I want to make you like calc and kiss you and hug you and—I just want to have you, okay? I want to keep you and never let you go.”

It’s the longest Derek’s ever spoken but that’s not even what makes Stiles’s throat dry up. Without saying anything, he grabs Derek’s by the hips and pulls them flush together, finding Derek’s mouth with his own.

He puts his all into the kiss; tells Derek everything he hasn’t already said, makes Derek feel everything he wants to do to Derek and with Derek. This kiss is unlike the ones they shared in the locker room; those ones felt desperate and wet and full of lust. This one is soft, tender, with Stiles taking his time exploring every inch, every bit, of Derek’s mouth with his tongue. It’s warm, and full of promises, and they kiss until they’re breathless, parting only when air becomes a necessity.

“So do I,” Stiles says hoarsely, a blissful smile creeping slowly on his face. It morphs quickly into a frown though when he thinks of what Derek’s said, blinking, “Except the calc part. I can do without any of the math.”

Derek laughs before pulling him in for another kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Edited a bit to add a bit of fluidity and some more Stiles-Derek interactions since I wasn't able to edit this as much as I wanted to before I had to post it. 
> 
> If you're looking for more Sterek-related things, or hell, if you just wanna fawn over Hoechlin, Dylan O'Brien, or any of the other TW cast, hit me up at [allhalethekings](http://allhalethekings.tumblr.com). 
> 
> I'm slightly awkward but it's cool. I've been told it's the good kind of awkward.


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